


Lying Works (Except You Ought To Learn To Do It Properly)

by stuartdakins



Series: We're Not In The Subjunctive Anymore [2]
Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: At Home With The Dakins, Coming Out, Fluff, Headcanon Bingo, M/M, dakin is uncomfortable with displays of emotion but what's new, mrs scripps would like to assure you that none of her goldfish were harmed, subjunctive 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuartdakins/pseuds/stuartdakins
Summary: As if he's walked down a familiar set of stairs in the dark only to find there's one more than he remembers, the ground beneath him gives way. It dawns on him that he's walking into a conversation he wasn't planning on having like this, didn't think (until recently) he'd ever need to have, and was hoping he could put off having for a little while longer.
Relationships: Stuart Dakin/Tom Irwin
Series: We're Not In The Subjunctive Anymore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770538
Comments: 18
Kudos: 11





	Lying Works (Except You Ought To Learn To Do It Properly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tea_and_Sympathy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_Sympathy/gifts).



> More Dakin and his mum content (because the original fic was supposed to be just those two, but Dakin and Irwin have minds of their own, and filthy ones at that). 
> 
> Dedicated to the wonderful @Tea_and_Sympathy, who has made me think more about parenthood in the last few weeks than I have in my whole life. I hope I, a childless gay, did justice to mums in this fic.

After that first endless night together, they settle into a routine of sorts - evenings (or rather, the evenings that Dakin can get away) are spent at Irwin's, where they'll have a drink and a smoke before, invariably, falling into bed together (or wheresoever they happen to fall) for another night of incredible sex. For the first time, Dakin understands what Posner meant about it all being over too soon. He isn't sure he could bear it if the novelty of being with Irwin started to wear off, but it doesn't, of  _ course  _ it doesn't - mind-blowing sex doesn't have an expiry date, and he feels vindicated by the discovery. The only thing that changes over time is the weather changing around them, from balmy spring to blistering summer - though anything that happens outside the four walls of Irwin's bedroom they're disinclined to notice. Needless to say, however, Dakin draws the line at staying the night - partly for the obvious reason of not wanting to have to explain his absences to his mother, but mostly because to do so would be to suggest there's an intimacy between them that runs deeper than just sex. And with Dakin leaving in a couple of months, he decides it's best they don't fool themselves. 

He does fall asleep at Irwin's, once, but it's an accident - and really, he should have known better than to drink half a bottle of wine on an empty stomach, in this heat. The last time he'd done so had been at a barbecue a couple of summers ago - Scripps' mum's 35th - he'd ended up tripping over his own feet and falling in the pond (and naturally, Scripps had never let him live it down). Thankfully, his tolerance has improved since then, but still - they both go to bed quite tipsy. The sex itself isn't their finest work - it's sloppy and undignified and none of the things Dakin usually associates with sex - but as always, there's that feeling of letting go, in that wonderful way that only Irwin can make him do. It's probably the least seriously either of them have taken themselves - crashing about in the dark, giggling like idiots at every fumble and misstep - and it's the freest he's ever felt. Afterwards, they lie together, flushed and sated and exhausted, and Dakin knows he should get dressed but he convinces himself a few minutes won't hurt - as the warmth from the wine and the afterglow and the setting sun lull him gently to sleep.

He's woken the following morning by the sunlight streaming in through the open window, the glare of its reflection in the offending bottle on the bedside table practically blinding him. He notices Irwin's arm still slung around his waist and belatedly realises where he is.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself, wriggling free so he can shake Irwin awake. "Tom.  _ Tom!  _ Wake up."

"Uh-uh. Nope." Irwin groans, burying his face in the pillow.

"Tom, it's morning."

That gets Irwin's attention. 

"Fuck." He jolts awake, wincing at the onslaught of sunlight from outside. "What time is it?"

"You tell me, you're the one with the watch."

"Right. Give me a second..." Irwin rummages through the pile of clothes on his side of the bed, eventually producing his glasses, followed by his expensive-looking leather wristwatch. Dakin's spent many an evening admiring the craftsmanship, from the elegant clockwork to the engraving on the back -  _ Thomas, Happy 21st, Love Mum and Dad -  _ but when he'd asked Irwin about it, he'd clammed up and changed the subject, and Dakin could have kicked himself for forgetting his casual sex etiquette.

"It's six o'clock," Irwin informs him, and Dakin breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank fuck. Mum won't be home for another hour. Graveyard shift. So long as I'm back before her, I'll be fine."

"Works a lot of night shifts, doesn't she? Lucky us."

"Hmm, yes. I must thank her," Dakin jokes, relaxing a little now that he knows he hasn't overslept, and resting his head on Irwin's chest. "She's a nurse, it sort of comes with the territory. I was always getting palmed off on Scripps' mum when I was a kid. They've been best mates since they were our age, so I've been stuck with Don since birth."

"He's stuck with you, more like."

"Cheeky. I'm sure he'd agree with you, though."

There's a silence as Dakin waits for the inevitable question to be asked, and Irwin fiddles with his hair, deciding how to phrase it.

"You never mention your dad," he says eventually.

"Never knew him," Dakin replies nonchalantly. "By all accounts, though, he wasn't worth knowing. So don't even  _ think  _ about feeling sorry for me. I don't. It's fine - I turned out great."

"Hm. Debatable."

"Prick. So do I get to ask you about your family now? Quid pro quo?"

"Another time. You've got to get home, and I've got a hangover to sleep off."

"Amateur. I feel great," Dakin lies, leaning over Irwin to grab his clothes off the floor.

"Oh, fuck  _ off."  _ Irwin retreats into the duvet until he disappears from view, and Dakin - admitting defeat - gathers up the clothes he can find and ventures out into the living room to look for the rest of them.

*

The walk home is merciless. The sun, still hanging low in the sky, taunts him with its white-hot glare - hurting his eyes and worsening his nagging headache - but he makes it home in one piece. All he wants is to crawl into bed and not resurface until the afternoon, but his plans are quickly derailed when he realises he's not alone - there's the telltale sounds of Sandra Dakin clattering about in the kitchen (and muttering to herself? No - she's on the phone, he realises). For a moment, he entertains the hope that she hasn't heard him come in and he can still make it upstairs unnoticed - but then she raises her voice and she's clearly not just talking to the person on the other end of the phone any more.

"Never mind, I think that's him now…" 

She emerges into the hallway, phone in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, and she may still be talking to whoever it is, but her gaze is fixed firmly on her errant son.

"Yep, he's fine. In for a right bollocking, but he's fine. I'm sorry I bothered you. Right, I'll talk to you later - I have to go and yell at my son."

"Actually, if you could go easy on the yelling…?" Stuart says weakly. "I've got a bit of a headache."

His mum rolls her eyes and disappears back into the kitchen to put the phone down. 

"Get in here and sit down." 

He knows better than to argue with her when she's like this, and begrudgingly follows her - only stopping to fix himself a glass of water before reluctantly taking a seat at the kitchen table. 

"I thought you were working?"

"One of the girls needed to swap shifts last-minute. So, lucky me - I had the night off."

"I was at Don's. I know I should have called, I'm sorry - I'd had a bit to drink and I just sort of fell asleep."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. 

"Funny you should say that. I just got off the phone with Mrs S. She says Don's away at church camp and she hasn't seen hide nor hair of you for weeks."

"Church camp? Isn't he a bit old for that?"

"He's there as a counsellor - obviously."

"Of course he fucking is," Stu mutters to himself. When he first started seeing Irwin he'd called Scripps every time to make sure he had their cover story straight - but he has to admit he's gotten careless lately. Scripps never mentioned a church camp though - or maybe he had and Stuart just hadn't been paying attention.

"Stu, this is serious. I had no idea where you were. I was worried sick - I was about to call the police, for fuck's sake. Now, I know you're an adult now - even if you don't always act like one - but I'm never not going to worry about you, I'm your mother. You want to stay out all night, fine - but at least tell me where you're going to be so I know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere."

Stuart looks at her, properly this time - she's white as a sheet and clearly hasn't slept - she looks like hell, like an apparition in a dressing gown, and he finally has the decency to feel guilty.

"You're right. I fucked up. I'm sorry, I really am."

"Where were you, really? Last night? And every other night this week when you said you were seeing Don?"

"Just - at a mate's. No-one you know."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Stuart Dakin, when did you become so crap at lying to me?"

"I'm not - "

"Bollocks. I know a walk of shame when I see one - I did enough of them when I was your age. Are you and Fiona back on, is that it?"

"No, that's... well and truly over," he says with a wry smile. Things with Fiona had fizzled out pretty quickly once he'd realised he had the hots for Irwin - he'd spent a couple of weeks mulling over how to break it off with her, but in the end, nothing got the message across quite like accidentally calling her 'sir' in bed.

"Shame. I liked her. Are you going to tell me who she is, then?"

"Nope. Like I said, it's no-one you know. And it's not like it's anything serious - I'm leaving soon, remember?"

"Then there's no harm in you telling me. We used to tell each other everything! I knew way more about your love life than I ever wanted to - "

"And now you don't," he snaps, draining what's left of his water and getting up to refill his glass.

"What is going  _ on _ with you? You're being really weird about this."

Stu doesn't look round - just watches the water in his glass rising and overflowing and spilling down the sides. As if he's walked down a familiar set of stairs in the dark only to find there's one more than he remembers, the ground beneath him gives way. It dawns on him that he's walking into a conversation he wasn't planning on having like this, didn't think (until recently) he'd ever need to have, and was hoping he could put off having for a little while longer.

"Stuart?" His mum's voice is more insistent this time, and the undertone of worry is back.

He shuts off the tap, takes a long drink of water, and turns around. "There's no girl. There hasn't been for a while now. I was with a boy last night, Mum. That's who I've been seeing all summer."

_ "Oh."  _ That's it - no judgement, no reaction one way or another, just - oh _. _ "That's why you lied?"

He nods. "I just - I didn't want to make a big deal about it, and you're always so dramatic, and - I don't know, I wanted to keep it to myself for a while. But - now you know, I guess. I'm bisexual. I like men. So - you know, do with that what you will. Can I go back to bed now?"

"Wait." His mum pulls him into a bone-crushingly tight hug, burying her face in his shirt. "I love you so much, you know that? No matter what. You're my son, and I love you, and - "

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too - would you let go of me? You'll break my ribs if you're not careful. See, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you - you're  _ so _ embarrassing."

"I'm your mum, it's my job to embarrass you. Besides, I sort of thought as much anyway. There was that teacher - the one you wouldn't shut up about - "

"I didn't talk about him  _ that  _ much."

"No - it was more the  _ way  _ you talked about him. And then lately you've been spending an awful lot of time with Don - though I suppose you haven't really, have you?"

"No," he admits. "Don was just covering for me. And as if I'd go there with him! He's practically my brother."

She chuckles warmly. "Of course. My mistake. It'd be funny though, considering Pam and I used to - "

Stu's jaw practically hits the floor. "You and Mrs S? You two were…?" 

"Oh, a lifetime ago now. But yes, we… dated, if you can call it that," she says, with a faraway smile.

He tries to picture dear, sweet Auntie Pam going for girls back in the day, but can't - then can, and immediately wishes he hadn't. "Fuck me. Does Don know?" 

"I doubt it. And you're not to tell him, either. So this boyfriend of yours - "

_ "Not  _ my boyfriend."

"What's his name? How did you meet?"

"He's just a boy from school. You don't know him - he's new," he replies - and strictly speaking, none of that's untrue. (He briefly considers telling his mum he spent the night getting buggered by his former history teacher, but decides she's had enough surprises for one day.) "His name's Tom."

He can't stop the smile from creeping into his voice - and it must be contagious, because his mum smiles back.

"Do I get to meet him?"

"Absolutely not! I told you, it's nothing serious. Neither of us really go in for that stuff."

"No, I suppose you don't. I only ever met Fiona by accident. If you'll permit me, though - couple of embarrassing mum questions."

"Do I have a choice?"

Her expression turns serious. "You are… safe, aren't you? Using protection and all that?"

"Yes, we use condoms - we're not stupid."

"Good. That's good. And… you're happy? You like him?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Then I'm happy for you, love." She hugs him again, and this time Stu squeezes her back. "Don't think you're off the hook just because you came out to me though. You still scared me half to death last night. Next time you want to stay the night at his place, you let me know, you hear?"

"I will. Promise. Now - can I  _ please  _ go back to bed? My head's killing me."

"Yes, I dare say a bit of sleep would do me some good, too. It's exhausting being your mum, sometimes - not that I'd have it any other way, mind." 

After one last mumbled apology, Stu finally drags himself upstairs and collapses face-first on his bed. Later, he'll recount the whole excruciating conversation to Irwin - who will no doubt see the funny side - but for now, the only thing on his mind is sleep.


End file.
